


I Love You More than I Have Ever Found A Way to Say

by lavender_love00



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_love00/pseuds/lavender_love00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Blaine's after-prom adventures become better than Prom itself could have ever been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You More than I Have Ever Found A Way to Say

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically AU - it was written before Prom Queen aired, and before I was into spoilers. It's how I wish Prom would have gone.

Blaine isn't ready to go home. He's sitting there in the driver's seat, looking like an idiot with his hands on the steering wheel, but his car keys are still in his pocket. This night, while not quite what he'd envisioned, has been the happiest night of his life thus far. The refreshments were sub-par and the punch was watered down and some idiot had tried to smuggle in some vodka to add and there'd been drama over that involving Principal Figgins and a police officer, but all that is nothing, meaningless, when he thinks about his date. Kurt. And now it's done, the doors are closed, the crowd of teenagers headed home or to hotels or elsewhere, but he just doesn't want it to end. Not yet.  
  
Because he's never seen Kurt like this before. His boyfriend – boyfriend! - has never been more stunning. The way he moved in that kilt (God, that kilt), the way his eyes sparkled as Blaine twirled him around (in all honesty, he was trying to make the kilt rise, just a little bit, just to see another inch of Kurt's perfect porcelain skin), makes fluttery feelings deep in Blaine's abdomen, down to his core. He doesn't care how much people stare or whisper or judge because this is their night and this is their moment, and it is something neither of them ever thought possible.  
  
And now Blaine is rooted there in the car, unable to move or drive away. Nights like this don't happen all the time, and this night is almost too good to be true and he's so scared that once he takes Kurt home and the door shuts behind him, the fairy tale will end and the bough will break and back to harsh reality they'll go sliding. So Blaine just intends to make this night last forever, except he's not quite sure how.  
  
And suddenly Kurt's hand is heavy on his shoulder and Kurt's breath is warm in his hear and Kurt's voice is engulfing his very soul as he whispers, “This doesn't have to end yet, you know.” Blaine looks up, his lips parted, a thousand fantasies and possibilities running through his hormone-addled mind. And he's pretty sure that Kurt knows exactly what he's thinking, because the taller boy drops his head shyly, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks, and says, “You know, I mean, the dancing.” He pauses. “...Or … other things.” Blaine takes a deep breath, trying to convince his raging hormones to be gentlemanly and dapper and chivalrous and all those other things that Kurt loves, and he hears himself say (in a tone that sounds a lot huskier and needy than he meant it to), “Of course the dancing. And … maybe other things.” Kurt is whispering again. “I know a place.”  
  
And before Blaine knows it, they've swapped seats and Kurt is driving his car, Kurt with his long, long legs and tall boots and that gorgeous kilt, and he thinks that watching someone drive shouldn't be that much of a turn-on, but right now it so is. Kurt drives and drives, and they're strangely silent, partly out of anticipation and partly from nerves and partly because this is so new still and they haven't quite managed to figure out what “this” means for them except for bliss and kisses and twirling, and the kilt again...  
  
When the car finally stops, Blaine looks up from the bare patch of skin on Kurt's leg he's been staring at the entire drive, and sees woods surrounding them and a large, silvery pond in front of them, lovely in the moonlight, the stars in the heavens reflected in the water. He breathes in Kurt's ear as Kurt had breathed in his. “This is perfect.”  
  
He grabs his iPod from the center console, amazed at his clarity of mind right now as Kurt is getting out of the car and the fucking kilt rises higher and higher still and he gets an eyeful of beautiful, milky pink thigh. The image is branded on his mind as he stumbles from the car, clumsy with want, and meets Kurt at the water's edge. He looks up into his boyfriend's beautiful face – boyfriend! - and tries to be gentle and suggestive at the same time while placing an earbud in Kurt's perfect ear. Quickly he flips through his playlists and lands on what he realizes is the perfect song for that perfect night. As the beginning notes play, he feels his breath catch when Kurt pulls him close, impossibly close, and his every nerve ending is set afire.  
  
 _I don't get many things right the first time,_

_In fact, I am told that a lot  
_

_Now I know all the wrong turns,_ __

_The stumbles and falls brought me here..._  
  
Kurt is dancing with him like he wanted to dance all night but didn't, for fear of making bigger waves than Kurt is prepared to handle at a place that barely accepted them at all. But now, now that they're alone in this perfect, beautiful place, the moon and stars their only audience, he can hold and be held by his boyfriend – boyfriend! - as tightly and for as long as he wants.  
  
 _And where was I before the day_

_That I first saw your lovely face?_

_Now I see it everyday_

_And I know_

_That I am,  I am , I am_

_The luckiest_  
  
And now Kurt is singing to him in that devastating, clear, ringing voice of his that nearly brings Blaine to his knees every time he hears it. It is the voice that made him fall in love with this ethereal, nymph-like boy, the voice that haunts his dreams and makes him want to be asleep and awake and in-between. It is the voice that makes his world topsy-turvy in the best way, because when Kurt sings, he doesn't know up from down or right from left or land from sea or earth from sky, but what he does know is true and real and wholly his. Because Kurt is wholly his. And that's amazing.  
  
 _What if I'd been born fifty years before you_

_in a house on a street where you lived?_

_Maybe I'd be outside as you passed on your bike-_

_Would I know?_

_And in a white sea of eyes_

_I see one pair that I recognize_

_And I know_

_That I am,  I am,  I am_

_The luckiest_  
  
Blaine can't believe how emotional he's getting. He doesn't do that – he puts up a calm front, he has his shit together on the outside no matter how many pieces he's falling into on the inside, but this, this is just breaking him. Because he's never been held like this before, not by anyone. He'd all but given up on this – the romance, the security, the comfort – after his horrible display at the Gap, when he realized that he really is bad at romance. He's confident and 100% gay and he knows it for sure thanks to a certain Rachel Berry, but 100% gay doesn't mean finding love, and he just figured he'd have to be patient and wait until he gets older. Or something. And that's when Pavoratti died and Kurt sang a song that touched his soul, that moved him in a way that no one's ever moved him before. And now he's being held by that boy, and the relief of being loved and held and cherished is nearly too much to take.  
  
And then Kurt pulls back and looks him square in the eye as he sings the next line.  
  
 _I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you_  
  
And then Kurt can't sing anymore, because Blaine's kissing him senseless, hard and deep and with every ounce of ardor he's feeling right now, and they kiss through the part of the song that talks about an old couple dying together, and Blaine's breath hitches at the thought of ever losing this beautiful boy. Their hands are wandering, tangled in hair and slipping under jackets and shirts, and inching carefully up under that goddamned KILT and – oh God, is that a bulge he feels? - when they run out of oxygen and break apart to gasp for air. And then he realizes that their faces are both damp and that their tears have mixed together.  
  
And as Blaine's head starts to clear, he suddenly, profoundly realizes that they are at a crossroads. Both of them are in early stages of arousal, but if they keep kissing like Blaine was kissing him 5 seconds ago, early won't be part of the equation. And with Herculean resolve, Blaine wrenches his body away from Kurt's, panting for air. “Kurt,” he gasps, trying to steady himself and ground himself and make blood flow to parts of his body other than his groin. He finds a tree to lean against. “Kurt. Do you want … what do you want?”  
  
Kurt can only shake his head. “Not prom night. Too cliché.” And Blaine nods, breathless. Because he understands what Kurt is saying, even though he isn't saying it – whenever they decide to do whatever they're doing, it needs to be discussed and thought-out and intentional and not something that they might regret doing the next morning. It doesn't need to be in the heat of the moment, even though the heat of the moment is so much fun. Because he wants this to last. Because he cares about Kurt like he's never cared about anybody before in his life, and the agony of waiting now is worth every second of the pleasure that he knows that later will bring. And thinking about that, he manages to take it down a notch and regain some composure.  
  
Kurt is also calmer now, smoothing down his kilt, his cheeks red. He whispers so softly that Blaine can barely make out what he says. “But I'm still not ready to go home.” Blaine steps forward again, this time taking his boyfriend – boyfriend! - ever so lightly into his arms. “Why don't we just go cuddle in my backseat? I have a blanket.” And he pulls Kurt by the hand toward the car, grabs the blanket from the trunk, and settles into the backseat. Promises are made to take things slow, to not go too far, and Kurt settles in beside him. Blaine pulls the blanket up over them both, snuggling down into Kurt's shoulder. “This is warm.” “This is nice.” He places a soft kiss on Kurt's gorgeous jawline, trying not to think about the kilt. And Blaine whispers once more in Kurt's ear. “I am the luckiest.” Romance. He's working on it.


End file.
